


All the Stars Aligned

by newamsterdam



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Cardverse, Ensemble Cast, F/M, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3793021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newamsterdam/pseuds/newamsterdam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time in living memory, the four courts are complete-- every kingdom has its own King, Queen, and Jack to lead it. Arthur, the Queen of Spades, should be glad for the stability that brings to the realm. But instead, all he can do is worry about what's to come, and the interference of a certain King of Diamonds certainly isn't helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the [Fruk Entente Cordiale Event 2015](http://what-the-fruk.livejournal.com/380464.html), for the "Cardverse" prompt. Francis isn't in this chapter much, but you have my word that this is, in fact, a FrUK story. 
> 
> Notes on the 'verse can be found [here](http://aphnewamsterdam.tumblr.com/tagged/unnecessary-cardverse-au), though I hope that most worldbuilding will be explained over the course of the fic. You're always free to let me know how I'm doing, on that score!
> 
> And thank you to my beta, kurukurumaki, whose help is entirely invaluable to the writing of this fic.

Arthur’s mother, herself the granddaughter of a Queen of Spades, had told her sons stories of kings and queens for as long as Arthur could remember. But those royals seemed to have petty, far away goals—the queens were only queens by virtue of marriage, the kings exercised their powers unchecked, and the jacks didn’t seem to exist at all. They weren’t royalty because they’d been chosen by the stars, but rather because of their birth. As a child, Arthur had loved those stories, and fantasized about kings and queens falling in love and ruling in perfect harmony. The older he got, however, the more foolish those notions seemed. Love, he learned, was the last thing a true Queen needed.

Nowadays, he’s given up on the notion entirely—meaning no disrespect, of course, to his honorable mother. But having been the Queen of Spades for seven long years, Arthur has spent no time at all worrying about love. Spades has had no King for some time, the stars strangely silent on that score. Yao, the Jack of Spades, governs through law. Arthur protects his kingdom with magic. And they’ve managed, an empty throne at state functions the only reminder of what they’ve lacked. 

But no longer. It’s a strange feeling, and one Arthur has yet to come completely to terms with. Six months ago, they’d found the new King of Spades, and sent him off to the city of Euchre for his formal training. Every Jack, Queen and King of the four kingdoms has been through the same, and now they all gather in the impartial city to welcome the latest royal into their ranks. 

More than anything, these nights are about ceremony. There is a great square table at the center of the room, and a gilded chair set at each corner of it. Each of these thrones is flanked by two smaller ones, and at the moment eight of those seats are occupied. Flashes of green, red, and yellow catch Arthur’s eye as the people turn and talk to one another. Some lift their hands in greeting, others get up out of their seats to embrace. He knows the Aces are watching from their positions along the wall, just as the Eights and Fives patrol the hallways and entrances. Everyone and everything is in its proper place, enacting the steps like a dance. He counts off in his head, most days, to make sure that he won’t miss a step.

“You shouldn’t frown like that, you know,” a silky voice says from behind him. “Your face will get stuck like that, and then your looks really will be beyond help.”

The Queen of Spades does not turn to look. He doesn’t need to. He knows that the King of Diamonds has come up behind him, and can imagine the other royal draped all in yellow-gold silk and white lace. Arthur crosses his arms over his chest and scowls more deeply out of spite.

“Maybe I’d prefer it that way,” he says without inflection, words stiff and forced. 

He hears the King step up beside him, and then is forced to gaze upon Francis Bonnefoy’s unwelcome countenance. The two of them are of a height, but Francis holds himself up in a way that makes him seem more than what he is. Arthur has always considered that a treacherous sort of dishonesty. 

Francis sighs, shakes his head. “It’s a shame. You know how I feel about your smile.”

Arthur turns abruptly, cheeks a livid red and fierce eyebrows knit together. He barely registers Francis’ appearance—more white than gold, tonight, in deference to the occasion—before he lifts his foot and then brings his heel down sharply against Francis’. The King hisses in pain and steps back, arms raised, placating.

“Don’t talk to me,” Arthur warns, stepping back himself to increase the distance between them. “If there’s something Diamonds needs to relay to Spades, you can have Elise speak to me. I don’t want to see you tonight.”

Francis purses his lips together and inclines his head. His bearing and manners reek of good breading, the type of thrice-crowned family that Arthur himself is from. But Arthur knows better. Everything about Francis Bonnefoy is a carefully crafted act, Arthur thinks with disdain. 

“It isn’t very political to be so unforgiving.” Francis’ voice is quiet, musing. “And in any case, it hardly matters anymore. You are no longer Spades’ chief representative, remember?”

The fourth of the gilded thrones has lain empty for many long years. Now Arthur looks for it instinctively, his eyes resting on the engraved Spades and noble eagles. Tonight, that chair will no longer be empty. It should be a comfort to him, to have a King to take on the duties that Arthur and the Jack of Spades have shared between them. 

“Stay away from Alfred.” Arthur fixes Francis with his most ferocious glare. “He could be—he will be something incredible. He doesn’t need the likes of you influencing him.”

The King of Diamonds smirks. “Oh, so your new King is easily influenced? That doesn’t bode well for Spades, does it?”

Arthur hisses from behind clenched teeth. “Shut. Up.” 

Laughter fills the air, Francis Bonnefoy’s twinkling and uncomfortably familiar chuckle. “You’re so serious. I have no desire to ‘influence’ your little King. And from the letters we’ve exchanged, I don’t think I’d be able to. You’ve got quite the idealist by your side, now.”

For a moment, Arthur forgets his anger and thinks he hears something wistful in Francis’ tone. Suspicious, he mutters, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

The King shakes his head, makes a vague gesture in the air. “Not for you, certainly. I’ve always thought you’d do better with someone passionate by your side. Maybe it’ll make you less serious.”

“I’m a Queen,” Arthur hisses. “It’s my job to be serious. I’ve looked after my kingdom for years, built it up into something great, with or without a King—”

“I know.” Francis lifts a hand, speaks with plain somberness. “And no one faults you for that, you know. I’m just saying, this might be good for you. Take a vacation, relax. Actually let young Alfred deal with affairs of state.”

Arthur bites the inside of his cheek. “If it’ll be good for me, then who’s it bad for?”

The King of Diamonds turns away from him, but Arthur still catches his wan smile. “Now, that is the question, isn’t it?”

Arthur has never given much thought to Kings, certainly not since becoming a Queen himself. But as a child, he’d always imagined the royals in his mother’s stories like this—golden-haired, blue-eyed, tall and broad-shouldered. Those kings had kind smiles and twinkling eyes, graceful movements and subtle authority. It makes Arthur uncomfortable to think of how much Francis Bonnefoy fits that image. 

\--

The irony of events like this is that they are as intimate as they are ceremonial. The royals tend to be on good terms, though they can’t meet often. So there’s an air of reunion, tonight, as the Queen of Diamonds embraces the Queen of Clubs, and the Jacks of those kingdoms try not to seem too pleased to see one another. It’s a sign of good fortune, according to the oldest tales, when the kingdoms love one another. 

There had been time for loud and unbridled celebration six months ago, when Arthur and Yao had found their new King working as a clerk in one of the new factories on their eastern shores. Hands covered in ink and grease, shirtsleeves rolled up and grin infectious, the boy had looked nothing so much as confused at the royal retinue that had come to greet him. But even as Arthur had led him towards the carriage, he had seen the glint of something sharp and decisive in Alfred’s sky blue eyes. He told himself that was what had given him so much hope, but Francis had been right—it was more the smile and optimism than the cool eyes and cunning. 

(And why had the stars waited so long, anyhow? True, Alfred is young, but surely there might’ve been someone else who could have ruled, rather than letting the throne sit empty? Arthur has never trusted destiny, for this reason most of all. He doesn’t favor what he cannot understand.) 

Spades had erupted into celebrations as the news spread, and that joy had leaked over into the neighboring kingdoms of Diamonds and Hearts, and eventually to far Clubs. Yao, the Jack of Spades, confirmed what they’d all already guessed—with Alfred’s coronation, the four kingdoms would have a full set of royalty for the first time in living memory. 

Now, they are all gathered for the first time. The Diamonds royals are by far the most social of the group—even Basch, their prickly Jack, is speaking to the Jack of Clubs on one side of the room. Queen Elise flits between the Jack of Hearts and the Queen of Clubs, and as for their King… Arthur rolls his eyes as he sees Francis huddled together with the Kings of Hearts and Clubs. The others mill together in groups, watched by the keen gazes of four Aces. Arthur sees Matthew watching from the western corner, and when he catches the Ace’s eye the young man smiles at him softly. 

Yao steps into the room a few minutes later, carrying a rod of office that he bangs three times on the ground to gain the others’ attention. Ten sets of eyes turn towards him; four Aces keep watch on each other. Yao smiles thinly, his face just as youthful as it had been on the day ten years ago when he’d been crowned. Now he looks out on each of the royals who’d come after him with his perceptive, liquid-dark gaze.

“Each of us has made our oaths, to protect our kingdoms, our people, and the magic that governs our world,” Yao says. He speaks without aid, but his voice carries to every corner of the room. “In different times, the deck was always full. And today we come upon those times again, as the stars have chosen a King of Spades. As ever, to serve our people and keep our oaths, it’s our job to maintain peace with one another. Some of you make that task easier than others.”

Yao pauses deliberately, while the rest of them hide smirks and laughter behind their hands. Arthur chooses to roll his eyes, though after seven years he’s more than used to Yao’s dry humor. Yao allows himself a flash of a smile, and then continues.

“So make your peace with each other, and with our newest King. I now present to you the King of Spades, Alfred Franklin Jones.”

Arthur feels his heart enter his throat, this night and the past six months of preparations reaching a painful crescendo. The doors behind Yao open, flooding the room with light. It seems as though everyone is holding their breath, waiting. And then…

“Oh, was that my cue? You said you’d say my name first—oh, sorry. Hi, everyone.” Alfred steps into the room with a smile and casually uneven steps. Dressed all in white except for the deep blue coat that hangs over his shoulders, he lifts a hand and waves at the gathered courts. His clothing is cut simply, in the style favored by Spades’ middle class. Thin-framed spectacles are perched on his nose, his corn-colored hair combed back neatly.

For a moment, the others just stare at him. Arthur feels heat rising on his cheeks, and doesn’t know whether he’s embarrassed or furious. And then, all at once, the spell breaks. Francis steps away from the other Kings and towards Alfred, spreading his arms and smiling warmly. 

“You’ve certainly kept us waiting, King Alfred,” he says with a laugh. He inclines his head, half-bows over his hand in a gesture that could never be mistaken for subservience, but conveys a great deal of respect. “Allow me to be the first to welcome you into our little club. Don’t mind the others, they’re all lovely people. Except Arthur, but I’m afraid we can’t help you with that.”

The others laugh as Arthur sputters and imagines drowning Francis is a barrel of his country’s very expensive wine. But Alfred takes everything in stride, smiles sharply and turns to Arthur with a considering look.

“I don’t know about that,” he says. “I think we’re going to get along great.” He steps up to stand next to Arthur, and Yao joins them on Alfred’s other side. For the first time, Arthur feels what the force of a full set can be. He finds he rather enjoys the power of it.

“You’ll have to watch out for us, you know,” Alfred says warmly, winking. But Arthur catches the warning in his words, and doesn’t precisely disapprove of it. 

\--

Alfred greets each group in turn. He remembers that Roderich of Clubs values etiquette and propriety above all else, while Basch of Diamonds hates flattery. (How Basch manages with Francis as his King, Arthur’s never guessed. But the Jack is ferociously protective of Francis, and Arthur doesn’t want to interrogate that loyalty too closely.) Feliciano of Hearts is easiest to manage; he and Alfred hit it off, laughing and joking as the other Jacks look on and can’t help but smile. 

Arthur returns to Alfred’s side as he greets the other Queens. Elise is all gentle smiles, but Arthur knows well enough the steel that her delicacy hides. Despite that, there’s nothing duplicitous about her, and he finds her much better company than Francis. After Elise is Erszébet of Clubs—she smiles warmly but Arthur can see her measuring Alfred’s strength as they shake hands. Finally Kiku of Hearts comes forward, offering Alfred a dignified bow as he shifts in red and white silks. Kiku has always been Arthur’s favorite of the other Queens, and when Alfred manages to get Kiku to smile, he’s nothing so much as proud.

He’s supposed to step away when Alfred goes to speak to the other Kings, but Arthur still keeps close watch. He’s never seen Ludwig of Hearts smile, but when the two Kings shake hands Arthur is struck by their similarities—both blond-haired and blue-eyed, they look dignified in their rich clothing. But Arthur is acutely aware of how inexperienced they both are; Ludwig and Alfred are both younger than their respective Jacks and Queens, and while Ludwig hides that with a serious expression and work ethic and Alfred plays his innocence to his advantage, Arthur is suddenly struck with a feeling of foreboding. 

(Premonitions aren’t even his specialty, he thinks darkly as he reaches for another drink. The feeling doesn’t mean anything, everything’s going to be fine…)

Alfred moves on to Ivan of Clubs, who is the opposite of Ludwig in that he never seems to do anything but smile. He and Alfred speak for a moment, and then they’re both laughing—but it’s not Alfred’s usual, carefree laugh. Spades and Clubs are old, traditional rivals, even though Spades’ recent move towards industry has taken them further apart. But Arthur isn’t worried about this. He thinks Alfred is more than a match for Ivan. 

And that leaves Francis. The King of Diamonds doesn’t settle for a handshake, instead embracing Alfred and kissing him on each cheek while Arthur consciously tries not to snap the stem of his glass in half. 

“I am the eldest King, now, and you are the youngest, so you must tell me if there’s anything I can do for you,” Francis tells Alfred. “Think of me as a big brother, if you will.”

“You know, I was actually curious about something,” Alfred says, perking up. “Everyone’s been making such a big deal out of me—which is cool, don’t get me wrong—but was it like this when you guys were crowned, too?”

Ivan and Ludwig have wandered over, the four of them standing in a diamond. It’s Ivan who speaks first. 

“Roderich and Erszébet were already in office, when I was crowned,” he says thoughtfully. “Clubs’ last King was not the nicest, you know. So the people were happy to have a new one, but maybe a little nervous, too.”

Francis clears his throat. “They were fine once they got to know you, of course.”

Ivan grins. “Of course.”

Alfred turns to Ludwig next, but the King of Hearts looks down at his feet with a frown. “I don’t remember much of it. I was quite young at the time.”

Before Alfred can reply, Francis cuts in smoothly. “My coronation, of course, was fully of pageantry! Diamonds never greets a royal without the proper celebration. My only regret is that another had been found around the same time, so my special day had to be shared.” 

“Wait, what?” Alfred’s eyes are wide. “I didn’t know that! Who was with you?”

Francis smirks, then turns to meet Arthur’s furious gaze. He ignores the Queen of Spades as he turns back to Alfred and says silkily, “Why, your esteemed Queen, of course. Six months alone together in this beautiful old city, undergoing our training with no one else for comfort! I will always consider that a special time for us.”

Arthur can’t be still any longer. He crosses the room in quick strides, pushing Alfred aside to stand between him and Francis. “The only thing special about it was that we both managed not to murder each other. _And_ that we agreed never to speak of it again.”

Francis’ smile is unkind and calculating. “No, my dear, you ordered me never to speak of it. But if you’ll recall, a King always outranks a Queen.”

The Queen of Spades narrows his eyes, drawing himself up to his full height. Chin high, he sneers at Francis. “You are a trumped-up Bonnefoy merchant. There’s nothing kingly about you, except maybe by accident of the stars.”

“Hey, hey.” Alfred puts a restraining hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Calm down.” 

“No, it’s alright,” Francis says smoothly. “We can’t all be the sons of thrice-crowned families. And, between you and me, Alfred, I’ve always preferred new blood amongst royalty. Otherwise we’d all be like Queen Arthur, overdressed and not very well-liked.” 

“Enough!” Ludwig throws up one hand in a gesture of such unquestionable authority that the rest of the room falls silent. “You’re both behaving like children. We exist to keep the peace, and if neither of you can do that, you’ll at least shut up and let the rest of us do it for you.” 

Arthur ducks his head, abashed. Ludwig looks furious, but a moment later he starts coughing, holding hand over his mouth. The Queens and Jacks around them have stepped forward, watching with concern. But it’s the Jack of Hearts who rushes to Ludwig’s side, supporting him under one arm.

“Ludwig! Are you alright? Does it hurt?” 

The King of Hearts clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’m fine, Feliciano. We should be going, soon.”

Kiku steps forward next, flanking Ludwig’s other side. “I think that would be for the best. We all have long journeys ahead of us.”

Immediately, the Aces step forward from their positions along the walls. They nod at each other—Lovino of Hearts makes a rude gesture at Antonio of Diamonds, who laughs in response; Natalya of Clubs quickly comes up behind her King; and Matthew makes his way to Alfred’s side, shadowing his King quietly. 

The royals say their goodbyes, and Hearts leaves first, followed closely by Clubs. Basch is scolding Francis in a harsh undertone as Elise looks on seriously and Antonio fails to hide his laughter. But Arthur doesn’t see what comes of it, because Yao motions to him and soon he’s following Alfred and Matthew out of the old grand castle towards their horses and carriage.

The Eight and Five of Spades are already waiting there for them, mounted on black horses. The Eight, Jackson, looks down at Arthur with a quirked brow.

“I heard you broke up the party,” he says with a laugh. “I thought you were getting better at holding your temper.”

Arthur forgets for a moment that he is a Queen and a Kirkland, and offers Jackson a rude gesture. “Fuck off,” he says, climbing into the carriage. As Alfred and Yao join him, he glares pointedly at both of them. “We’re not going to talk about it.”

“Whatever,” Alfred says, sinking back onto the cushioned seats. “I’m exhausted, and I want to go home. We can talk about your weird issues with the King of Diamonds in the morning.”

“It’ll take more than the morning to get through all of them,” Yao informs Alfred primly.

Deciding he hates them both, Arthur turns his face into the seatback and prays for dreamless sleep. At the very least, this wasn’t his worst visit to Euchre. But now, with the deck complete, it isn’t likely that he’ll return anytime soon. It’s time to focus on the future, he thinks, and forget the past.

If only the stars would see fit to let him do just that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a truly excellent FrUK fic, because Arthur and Francis don't actually interact in this chapter.
> 
> And for reference, here's the court of Diamonds, complete with human/nation names:
> 
> King (Francis/France)  
> Queen (Elise/Liechtenstein)  
> 10 (Manon/Belgium)  
> 7 (Michelle/Seychelles)  
> 4 (Cheng/Macau)  
> Jack (Basch/Switzerland)  
> 9 (Willem/Netherlands)  
> 6 (Léa/Monaco)  
> 3 (Charel/Luxembourg)  
> Ace (Antonio/Spain)  
> 8 (Nhị/Vietnam)  
> 5 (Gabriel/Portugal)  
> 2 (Ahmadou/Cameroon)
> 
> Thanks for all the feedback on the first chapter. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story!

_“Why don’t Kings have magic, too?” Francis is two years older than Arthur, but at the moment he seems younger, laying out on his back and staring up at the sky._

_“It’s obvious,” Arthur scoffs. He’s sitting cross-legged, back against the bark of an old oak tree as he balances a thick book in his lap._

_Francis curls over onto his stomach and props his chin up against his hands. “Explain it to me?”_

_Arthur sighs. “The whole system is based on balance. The Jacks represent the will of the people, so they can’t have any magic because most people don’t. You don’t need it, anyway, to implement laws and treat people fairly.”_

_Francis curls a strand of hair around his finger, never taking his eyes off Arthur. “Go on.”_

_“The Queens are the will of the land. Magic ties the land together, makes it rich and fertile and productive. Queens help shape the land to the people’s will through magic.”_

_“That’s why you like animals so much. Like the birds that always come to your window!”_

_There’s a furious red blush across Arthur’s cheeks. “Shut up. None of that has to do with you, anyway. Because you’re going to be a King, and Kings answer to their own wills. They guide the kingdoms, pull them forward or hold them back. In many ways, the King is the kingdom itself.”_

_“And they don’t need magic because…?”_

_“You know this,” Arthur huffs. “Because it would interfere. Kings aren’t the people or the land, which means they have to listen to their Jacks and Queens in order to understand the world around them. A King who doesn’t listen will lead his kingdom to ruin. They have magic, but only of a sort—one gift that will help them through their reign.”_

_Francis considers this for a moment, then sighs. “Hey, Arthur?”_

_“What is it?”_

_“I hope the stars know what they’re doing.”_

_Arthur uncrosses his legs so that he can kick at Francis, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “You idiot. The stars always know what they’re doing. Even making you a King must make sense, to them.”_

_It’s a reassuring thought, even delivered with a scowl._

\--

Francis has never had a prophetic dream. Kings don’t have much magic, as a rule—it would make them too powerful, given all else that they control. And so Francis knows his dreams are only the manifestations of his own wishes and imaginings, and not glimpses of what is to come. No matter how much he might wish otherwise, his dreams won’t come true.

But that doesn’t stop him from lying in bed in the early hours of the morning, surrounded by soft sheets and caught up in his reveries. In his dreams, he doesn’t wake up alone. The bed is warm from this other’s presence, and as Francis slowly blinks open his eyes they turn over and smile at him. It’s a precious smile, one that the world doesn’t get to see very often. So he holds it close to his heart as he reaches out and embraces this loved one, kisses them softly as the sun rises and sets his bedroom aglow. 

When he wakes up in reality, his bed is cold and empty, and Francis lies back against his pillows and sighs. It’s not a bad life, as King of Diamonds—his people are successful, cultured, happy, and so he should be the same. His rooms are vast and ornately decorated, all in crystals and gold. He’s an early riser by nature, so he can take his time bathing and dressing in the morning. Given that he’ll be surrounded by his court for the rest of the day, he really does treasure these moments of solitude.

But he’ll never get used to—never like—waking up alone.

This morning, he stands in front of his wardrobe still dripping from his bath. Soft towel wrapped around his waist, he gazes at his reflection in the full-length mirror and frowns. They say authority ages a person, and Francis certainly no longer looks like the fresh-faced nineteen-year-old who’d been sent to Euchre seven years ago. There’s stubble on his cheeks and subtle lines on his face; crinkles around his blue eyes from both smiles and frowns. He rubs one hand against the back of his neck and then brushes it down over his chest, resting against the intricate marking over his heart.

The stars don’t make mistakes. When a royal is chosen, it’s written into their very skin. And so etched over Francis’ heart is a yellow-gold diamond, wreathed in coins. The New Year had just passed when he’d awoken to find the marking, skin slightly warm around it. His family has never run to magic, and so at first he wasn’t sure what it had meant. No King of Diamonds had ever come from his quaint northern village, before. But the representatives of the court had arrived shortly thereafter, and soon enough he was sent to Euchre, the weight of his new destiny sitting heavily upon his shoulders.

In the seven years since, Hearts, Clubs and Spades have all crowned their own Kings. Alfred had gotten his mark almost exactly seven years to the day that Francis had gotten his. Alfred was crowned on the fourth day of the seventh month; Francis had been crowned on the fourteenth day of the same. And while Francis will never have prophetic dreams, he can’t help but feel an unease settling at the base of his spine. 

A full deck is meant to be a sign of good fortune. But then again, so is love between the kingdoms. And though his kingdom prospers and seven years have filled his court with many dear friends, Francis has yet to find the fortune he so desires. 

Diamonds is the kingdom of wealth, Francis reminds himself as he dresses with quiet efficiency. It’s Hearts that stands for love, while Spades is progress and Clubs is tradition. And his kingdom has made good on its destiny, these past seven years. His people have all but forgotten the destruction that his predecessor’s wars had wrought, and they’re more prosperous than ever. That should be enough for Francis, shouldn’t it?

He’s combing back his hair when the small bell in the corner of the room rings, signaling that the Queen has arrived to have breakfast with him. Francis checks to make sure that not a hair or thread is out of place, slides on a smile as he looks at himself in the mirror, and then leaves the room as the King of Diamonds—charming, careless, and content. 

\--

The court of Diamonds runs on a simple and casual efficiency. Like all of the kingdoms, it’s split into three circles—the Queen’s, which aids the kingdom through magic; the Jack’s, which governs through law and development; and the Ace’s, concerned primarily with defense. The King, as the central point around which each of these circles revolves, has his hands full more often than not. 

He spends the morning with Elise, as she updates him on her Circle’s latest projects. She’d sent the Seven of Diamonds, Michelle, to the eastern province earlier that week after the farmers had sent word that their herds were falling ill. In the capital, they employ magicians who help weave lace and mine jewels, luxury goods that keep the kingdom prosperous. Elise is a gentle but disciplined leader, and Francis seldom questions her wisdom. 

After that it’s off to the training grounds with Antonio, who spars with Francis until he’s too tried to move, after they talk business. The Ace’s Circle manages the local guard and the police force, as well as the standing army. But Francis has recently cut back on the army, not wanting to tempt fate into making it a necessity. Antonio goes harder on him than he needs to, perhaps as retaliation. And then finally, after a second bath, it’s time to meet with the Jack— 

“—cis. Francis!” 

“What, yes?” He looks up to see Basch looming over him, face pulled into a furious scowl. Francis can’t imagine running the kingdom without his Jack, but he does wish that the man would endeavor to be calmer. It would probably be better for his health. 

“Have you heard anything I just said?” Basch demands, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Well.” Francis frowns. “To be fair, I usually don’t hear even half of what you say. But things always turn out alright. I trust you, my dear hedgehog.” 

It really is miraculous, how Basch’s complexion goes from pale to red in less than a minute. “I told you to stop calling me that!” 

Francis laughs, even though he knows it will push Basch even closer to fury. “But Elise was so right, don’t you think? You really are like a hedgehog, all prickles on the outside, but still more than adorable. It’s a compliment, Basch!” 

Basch’s lips twitch. “I’m not going to contradict the Queen. But you—”

“I’m the King! That means you shouldn’t contradict me, either.” Francis smiles his most winning smile at Basch, looking up at him expectantly. But, as ever, Bonnefoy charm has no effect on the Jack.

“That’s the reason I do contradict you,” Basch grumbles. “If we let you do whatever you wanted, the kingdom would fall apart in no time. I left you alone for _five minutes_ at the coronation—”

Francis exhales through his teeth and leans forward heavily against the Jack’s rosewood desk, rubbing at his temples with his thumbs as he balances his head in his hands. “Basch. It’s been a month. You can’t keep bringing that up whenever you want to make a point.” 

“Then stop chasing after someone who makes you miserable,” Basch declares unkindly. “You ordered that enormous statue for Spades, too, and you think I wouldn’t notice? Our best artists, employed for Spades! Maybe no one else thinks much of it, because they weren’t in court all those years ago, but _I_ remember, and I—”

“Basch. Drop it.” Francis’ words fall like stones, echoing in the room even though he hasn’t raised his voice. There’s no anger visible on his face as he looks up at Basch, but he speaks with a measured authority than cannot be denied. For a moment, the Jack simply stares at him, lips pursed harshly together. But then the moment passes, and Francis throws back his head with a laugh. “We can’t all be as lucky as you were, can we? You trained with Roderich, all those years ago. And you’re still the best of friends.” 

“He—he’s not my friend!” Basch sputters. But Francis is still laughing. For all that Basch may deny it, he and the Jack of Clubs are bonded together by the six months they’d spent together in Euchre. That was two years before Francis’ own training, and Clubs and Diamonds still enjoy harmonious relations as a result. Sometimes, it seems, the stars actually know what they’re doing. 

“Anyway,” Basch says after a moment, clearing his throat. “Your plans for the new schools in the south weren’t a complete failure. It seems nearly eighty percent of the children there are enrolled, now.”

“It should be a hundred,” Francis remarks, twisting one of his ornate rings around his finger.

“I know,” Basch grumbles. “We’re getting there. But what you really need to focus on is King Ludwig’s visit. He should be arriving in Bellgrove early next week. Willem ran the numbers, and our exports to Hearts are dropping year by year. See if you can’t fix that.”

Francis tilts his head upwards, expression dramatically hopeless for a moment. “I can’t make Ludwig do anything, you know that. And he can’t make his people buy more wine and jewelry if that’s not what they want.”

Basch makes a gagging nose and whacks Francis on the forehead with his heavy stack of papers. “You’re King Francis Bonnefoy. You can make anyone do anything, isn’t that what you’ve always said?”

Francis glances up and smiles, winking at Basch. “Anyone except you, of course.”

Basch huffs. “Of course.”

\--

As royals, their chief responsibility is to maintain peace with other kingdoms. The last two Kings of Diamonds were had no success in such matters, and had led the kingdoms into terrible wars to satisfy their own ambitions. The descendants of one had settled in far Hearts to rid themselves of old King Remus’ shadow, and the other had left behind no children. The Bonnefoy line had never been crowned in the first place, and so Francis’ coronation had been met with a certain degree of apprehension.

Seven years later, he thinks he is well-loved. He and Basch have built his court up, filled it with young talent and dedication. Two years ago, Elise had been found and crowned, and since their court has been complete. The Queen is particularly talented at growing magic—crops burst forth in greater numbers, under her care, and the mines produce more jewels and coal. The animals are healthier, the people less given to disease. Basch balances the books so that the crown’s newfound wealth can be spent on its people, and Francis directs these efforts and presents them to his people with smiles and grace.

Generally, Francis won’t let the court speak of politics at dinner. But tonight Michelle has just returned from the eastern province, and so there are things to discuss. All thirteen members sit at the high table, a slightly-less ornate versions that the one that sits in Euchre. At its head, Francis turns to his Queen with pursed lips.

“What do you mean, the cows are sick?” It seems like such a ludicrous thing to say, and yet there is no mirth in the King’s voice nor the Queen’s expression.

“It’s not like anything she’s seen before.” Elise’s voice is soft but firm, and from across the table the Seven of Diamonds nods, affirming her words. “Animals aren’t supposed to faint, but the cows are collapsing, and not waking up.”

“I don’t understand,” Basch says, his fork paused in midair, halfway to his mouth. “All at once?”

Michelle tugs at one of her dark pigtails and frowns. “On every single farm. I checked the water, but none of the farmers have gotten sick, or the other animals.”

“So I’ll go back to the province with her tomorrow,” Elise declares. “Between the two of us, we’ll see if we can’t find out what’s going on.” She pauses, looking apologetically at Francis. “Manon and Cheng will still be here, if anything else comes up that needs a magician’s attention.”

The Ten and Four of Diamonds nod from their own seats, but Francis wasn’t going to protest Elise’s decision. He’s frowning, however, the niggling feeling that he’d felt that morning returned in full force. “That’s fine,” he says, “but I don’t like the idea of sending you alone.”

“Of course she won’t be alone.” Nhị, the Eight of Diamonds, says from her own seat. She’s a usually stoic woman, deceptive in her quiet counsel. But just as the Ace watches over the King, the Eight keeps close guard of the Queen. “I’ll go with the two of them, and we’ll take some of the guard.”

“It’s not unsafe,” Michelle says. “I was just there a few days ago. But—”

“But if you find out what’s wrong, and you try and work magic to fix it, you’ll be vulnerable and sitting on the border of Clubs.” Francis’ brows knit together. “Listen, why don’t you all just humor me, on this? Take Basch and Gabriel with you, and then I can sleep easy knowing our dear Queen could have no better care.”

The Five of Diamonds, Gabriel, nods from his seat next to Nhị. He and Antonio hail from the southern islands, and share the same sun-kissed skin and brilliantly green eyes. He leans forward, now, chin balanced against his hands. “It’s not a bad idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea!” That’s Basch, looking at Francis with his mouth hanging open. “It takes four days to get to the eastern province—we won’t be back in time for the King of Hearts’ visit!” 

Francis waves his hand. “Honestly, Basch. Ludwig visits every year, not to mention the royals from other kingdoms. I can handle a few days without you.”

“Can you,” Basch mutters stiffly.

“The disease might spread,” Willem says. Usually stoic, he shares Basch’s love for balanced budgets and makes a formidable second-in-command for the Jack’s Circle. “If it does, it will become a matter of security.” 

“It won’t get that far,” Elise insists, though her green eyes grow wide with worry. “But, if it’ll make you feel better, Francis… Basch, will you come with us?”

Ever weak in the face of the Queen, Basch startles and stares down at his hands. “O-of course I will!” But a moment later he’s glaring at Francis, a warning written across his expression. “Just don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone.”

Francis smiles tightly and lifts his wine glass to his lips. “Honestly. It’s enough to make one forget who’s actually in charge, around here.” Around him, his court laughs, and the tension of the situation quickly diffuses as Elise and Michelle discuss travel arrangements and Nhị and Gabriel put their heads together to organize security. Only Basch keeps looking at Francis questioningly, but the King of Diamonds simply shakes his head.

That night, Francis sits at his desk and goes over his correspondence before bed. There’s a new letter from King Alfred, thanking him for the coronation present—a grand bronze statue of Elizabeth, the first King of Spades, holding a grand sword—the symbol of Spades—aloft. 

_There’s something I wanted to ask you, too_ , Alfred writes in neat script. _I’ve been going over the annals for the past few decades, to make sure there’s nothing I’m missing. But the records from five years ago are completely blank. Yao says he doesn’t know why that would be. If it’s not too much trouble, could you send me a copy of your kingdom’s records for that year? I’d appreciate it a lot!_

Francis glances down at the words and feels his blood run cold. Five years ago…

He swallows, licks at his lips and puts the letter aside, to reply to tomorrow. It could be a grand coincidence, he thinks. He had thought to put the past behind him, and yet he still thinks of his time in Euchre with Arthur. Maybe that’s his mistake, maybe that’s why the past won’t rest. Maybe that’s why this concern is overtaking him. 

He readies himself for bed and slips under his silken sheets, trying to put his many worries from his mind. At night, at least, he can dream. And he won’t have to think about seeing Basch and Elise off tomorrow, or Ludwig arriving in a few days, or Alfred’s curiosity or stricken cows. 

When he sleeps, he can dream peacefully of earlier times, and not worry about anything at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Court of Spades:  
> King (Alfred/America)  
> Queen (Arthur/England)  
> 10 (Harald/Norway)  
> 7 (Li Na/Taiwan)  
> 4 (Jamie/New Zealand)  
> Jack (Yao/China)  
> 9 (Leon/Hong Kong)  
> 6 (Arjun/India)  
> 3 (Árni/Iceland)  
> Ace (Matthew/Canada)  
> 8 (Jackson/Australia)  
> 5 (Yong Soo/Korea)  
> 2 (Carlos/Cuba)
> 
> The Court of Clubs:  
> King (Ivan/Russia)  
> Queen (Erzsébet/Hungary)  
> 10 (Andrei/Romania)  
> 7 (Raivis/Latvia)  
> 4 (Albania)  
> Jack (Roderich/Austria)  
> 9 (Iryna/Ukraine)  
> 6 (Eduard/Estonia)  
> 3 (Stefan/Bulgaria)  
> Ace (Natalya/Belarus)  
> 8 (Feliks/Poland)  
> 5 (Tolys/Lithuania)  
> 2 (Croatia)
> 
> The members of the Ace's Circle serve as bodyguards for the three main royals-- the Ace for the King, the Eight for the Queen, and the Five for the Jack. 
> 
> Names for the kingdoms' capitals come from alternative suit names (bells for Diamonds, shields for Spades, acorns for Clubs and roses for Hearts). These are also where the ideas for the King's, Queen's and Jack's marks come from. 
> 
> Thanks for all the feedback on this story, so far! Feel free to ask for clarification on things or let me know how I'm doing-- this chapter is really going to get the plot going, so I hope you enjoy it!

Alfred’s first month as the crowned King of Spades isn’t a disaster, but that’s about as much as Arthur can say for it. Alfred is certainly an enthusiastic ruler—he visits the towns surrounded the capital of Shieldport as often as he can, and insists that the members of the court take their meals together to encourage cooperation between them. The King’s days are split—he takes lessons with the Queen in the mornings and with the Jack in the afternoons, and spends every spare moment in the library, reading through the annals of the kingdom. Arthur often finds him tucked into alcoves in the castle, book open over his lap as he dozes quietly. (And really, at those moments it’s difficult not to find Alfred terribly endearing, but…)

“Try it again,” Arthur says through gritted teeth. The Queen is standing on one of the gravel pathways in the garden, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows as he lifts his hands in preparation for a spell.

Across the way, the King pouts. “How was that still wrong? I thought I had it, that time!” 

Arthur lifts his head and asks, slowly, “What is the basis of the King’s Right of Rule?” 

And oh, the look of guilt that sneaks across Alfred’s face. His eyes go wide, and his brows lift slightly, and he tries not to meet Arthur’s gaze as he says, “Well, er, that’s…”

Arthur sighs heavily and steps back, rubbing at his temples. “This is the third time we’ve been over this, Alfred. Stars above, I thought you were going to be _intelligent_ when we found you in that factory.” 

The King huffs, indignant. “I _am_ smart! I can do math and stuff, that’s easy. It’s just this magic that makes no damn sense! And how is that my fault, anyway? Kings aren’t even supposed to deal with magic.” 

“Not all magic,” Li Na puts in, from where she stands just behind Arthur. The Seven of Spades, Li Na hails from the same southern province as Yao. But she has none of the Jack’s stiff demeanor, preferring laughter and jokes to get her point across. Now, she tosses her dark hair over one shoulder and twirls a particularly rebellious strand around one finger. “But all Kings have at least some connection to their courts. You have to be able to feel it, you know?”

“No,” Alfred groans. “I don’t know. We’ve been trying this every day for a month. I just don’t get it!” 

“Then try harder!” Arthur snaps. He rests one hand against his hip, where his mark of office is etched into his skin—a deep indigo spade surrounded by a complex pattern of blue-green leaves. “Like it or not, you and I are connected. Close your eyes, clear your mind, and take a deep breath.” 

After a moment, the King complies. Eyes screwed shut, he inhales sharply and then exhales slowly. 

“That’s it,” Arthur says. “Now place a hand over your heart.”

Alfred does so, and Arthur imagines the King’s mark—a navy blue spade crossed by two swords. Alfred continues his steady breathing, and Arthur almost smiles.

“Alright. Now reach out with your senses—there are two presences near you, Li Na and myself. All you need to do is find us, and draw from our strength. Just focus… focus, and breathe…”

For a moment, Arthur thinks it will work. He can feel the gentle thrum of Alfred’s presence, vibrant but contained. He waits for long moments for that presence to reach out and join his, but it doesn’t happen. Once again, he’s disappointed. Arthur bites back a curse, and kicks at the gravel beneath his feet.

“Sorry,” Alfred says a moment later, eyes blinking open. “Where’s Jamie, by the way? It almost worked with Jamie.”

“Checking on that bird debacle,” Arthur reminds his King with stressed patience. “Unless you want gulls spontaneously falling out of the sky all over your kingdom?”

“Right.” Alfred sighs, leaning back on his heels. “Can we take a break, at least? I’m just not getting it like this.”

“I’ve got to get back to the Queen’s Tower,” Li Na reminds Arthur. “Harald and I are working on those new energy spells.”

Harald, the Ten of Spades, and Jamie, the Four, are both members of the Queen’s Circle and skilled practitioners of magic along with Arthur and Li Na. Collectively, the four of them deal with issues of security, energy, and anything else—along with educating the next generation of magicians. 

“Go on,” Arthur tells Li Na. “I’ll see the two of you this afternoon.”

When she’s gone, long skirts flowing elegantly behind her, Arthur turns back to the King. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Alfred rolls his eyes. “Would you like to talk about King Francis? Or what happened between you two?”

“Not particularly,” Arthur says flatly. “Those things aren’t important. But this, this is, Alfred. You’ll never reach your potential as a King if you can’t tap into the strength of your court. That’s why we’re _here_.”

“I know.” Alfred sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I _am_ trying, you know. This stuff is just—it bounces right off of me.”

“That’s besides the point. This is about the security of the kingdom. Every King manages to establish this connection, even fools like Bonnefoy.”

Alfred pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and snorts, thoroughly undignified. “Yes, yes, there’s no one worse on earth that old King Francis. Seriously—let it go. I like him. And you have to admit, the statue was pretty awesome.”

“It’s—it’s _something_.” Arthur grumbles. The statue had arrived three weeks ago, and been installed in the main courtyard shortly thereafter. The first King, Elizabeth, looks as dignified as one could imagine—standing in old-fashioned armor, her hair loose around her shoulders, her grip on her fabled sword firm and sure. But it’s the details that get under Arthur’s skin, like…

“Well, she _was_ a Kirkland, wasn’t she? And all you guys have those…” Alfred puts two fingers over each of his eyes, mimicking the slant of Arthur’s prominent eyebrows. 

“So what if we do?” Arthur snaps. “That doesn’t mean he can just—!”

“Dude, I think he meant it as a compliment. She’s really pretty, y’know? And definitely fierce.”

“Doesn’t make him less of an idiot,” Arthur grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I think you’re embarrassed,” Alfred suggests, grinning and showing off his perfect white teeth. 

“I think we’re going to run this drill again, until you get it right.” 

Alfred groans in complaint, but does as he’s told. But no matter how hard the two of them work, Arthur can’t guide Alfred into accessing his magic, and he goes to sleep that night disappointed yet again.

\--

This must be a dream, Arthur thinks, because his vision is cloudy and every time he tries to open his eyes wider his view contracts and blurs. The noises around him seem muffled and indistinct, and the only thing he can truly feel is a deep cold that chills him down to his bones. He’s never been one for panic, but he can’t help feeling trapped. If this is a dream, he wants to wake up.

Slowly, he hears a calming tune. It’s complex, played with skilled hands on a piano, but he knows without hesitation that this is a song for one person in particular. That thought warms him, because this song can only be played with love. And the instant he thinks so, the world comes into focus.

The walls are a pale sea green, and one is completely taken up by a large window that lets bright light stream into the room. The piano is set up in the corner, and a man sits at it, his eyes half-closed as his fingers dance across the keys. His forest green coat is laid out on the chair beside him, leaving him with rolled up sleeves and his cravat half-untucked. His dark hair shadows his pale face as he leans closer to the piano. 

It’s Roderich, the Jack of Clubs. 

“Why does it sound so sad?” 

Roderich glances up as Queen Erzsébet enters the room, her long skirts dragging across the floor. Her sword is sheathed at her hip, her hair long and loose over her shoulders. Roderich smiles as he sees her, but the expression doesn’t expel the shadows from his eyes. 

“I’ve always found anniversaries to be mournful occasions.” His voice is proper, but his words clipped. “Besides, not every song can be a happy one.”

Erzsébet sighs and shifts Roderich’s coat so she can take a seat next to him. “Maybe. But I think Clubs already has enough tragedies. I’d prefer it if you’d play something joyful.” 

Roderich reaches for Erzsébet’s hand, brings it to his lips as she smiles. He turns back to the piano and says, voice purposefully light, “For you, then, my Queen.” 

He’s played only a few notes when the room explodes. The window facing the piano shatters abruptly, scattering the room with shards of glass. Erzsébet is on her feet immediately, eyes narrowed as she looks for the source of the attack. Roderich coughs, the force of a second explosion throwing him to the ground. 

For a moment, there’s silence. Then the doors burst open, and the Eight and Five of Clubs are rushing into the room, swords drawn. 

“Are you alright, Erzsi?” Feliks, the Eight of Clubs, asks. He doesn’t look like much of a warrior, usually, his slim build belying the grace and agility he has in battle. But now, as he stands protectively at the Queen’s side, there’s fire in his green eyes. “What the hell was that?” 

“I don’t know. Where’s the King?” Erzsébet draws her own sword, an ancient and enchanted blade with a fist-sized emerald embedded in its pommel. “Roderich?”

“The King’s still out surveying the villages,” Tolys, the Five of Clubs, says as he helps the Jack to his feet. “Natalya is with him.” 

Roderich rises on shaky feet and nods at Erzsébet. “I’m alright. And I thought we were halting the energy experiments until _this_ ,” he waves a disdainful hand at the shattered window, “stops happening.”

Erzsébet bites her lip. “We have stopped them. And Andrei isn’t allowed to power machines without supervision, anymore.” There’s a hint of humor in her voice as she speaks of the Ten of Clubs, her second in command. He’s considered something of an eccentric, but there’s no doubting his talent for magic. 

“Then what is going on,” Roderich snaps, but before he can finish his thought the ground shakes again. Tolys immediately steps in front of the Jack protectively, and Feliks stands beside the Queen. 

When the ground stops shaking, there’s someone else in the room.

Erzsébet is the first to see him. “You—!” she cries out. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The figure steps towards her, a great staff raised over his head. Erzsébet lifts her sword to block the strike, but even as the staff hits the ground more vibrations echo through the room, sending all four of the Clubs scrambling for purchase. The figure attempts to sidestep Erzsébet, but she grabs her sword and swings it in an arch—striking the man in the side. 

He moves as though he’s barely felt the impact. His form is obscured by the long cloak he wears, one gloved hand clenched around the staff he holds. In retaliation, he lifts the staff and brings it down against Erzsébet’s hand. The crack of broken bones sounds throughout the room, but Erzsébet only grits her teeth against the pain. 

“Erzsi!” Feliks darts forward, his shorter sword allowing for more maneuverability around the attacker. He attacks where Erzsébet had struck the man, slashing in quick flurries. The man turns, trying to follow Feliks’ movements, but he’s too slow. He stands perfectly still for long moments, allowing Feliks the advantage. Then, he lifts the staff high and brings it back down with a thunderous noise.

For a minute, the world stands still and silent. Feliks is frozen, green eyes wide. Then, a deep red blooms across the bright green of his tunic. He lets out a choked noise before he crumples, sword clattering to the ground beside him. He doesn’t rise.

“Feliks!” Tolys screams, lifting his sword.

“Stay with the Jack!” Erzsébet says, her voice pausing him immediately. She’s pushed herself back up to her feet, cradling her injured hand against her side. Roderich is coming towards her, too, but she turns to him and freezes him with a single look. The Queen steps forward, sword still on the ground, to face their attacker. “What do you want? What did you do to Feliks?”

The man does not answer.

“Fine,” Erzsébet grits out. She shuts her eyes for a moment, her good hand lifted in a powerful gesture. Her sword rises in the air, followed by Feliks’, and then Tolys’, right out of his grip. The three blades circle the attacker, points directed at his head and heart. “Tell me why you’ve come here,” Erzsébet demands. 

Again, he does not speak.

“So be it,” Erzsébet says. She brings her hand down in an abrupt motion, and the three swords follow. Tolys’ sword goes straight through the man’s left side, Feliks’ through his right. Finally, the Queen’s sword impales itself right through his heart. The Queen sighs heavily at the sight of the man, skewered three ways. She turns towards Tolys, worry and fear evident on her face for the first time. “Run—get Stefan, and the guard.” 

The Three of Clubs, Stefan, is the court’s most skilled doctor. Tolys swallows convulsively, then nods. He casts one more look at the attacker, upright but unmoving, and then rushes from the room. 

Roderich reaches for Erzsébet’s hand, a flurry of emotions playing out over his normally reserved face. “My Queen…”

“Don’t look at its face,” Erzsébet says, turning away from their attacker and kneeling down beside Feliks. She lifts the Eight’s head into her lap, murmuring something as she brushes her fingers gently over his face. He’s too still, but the motion returns some of the color to his face, even as his blood stains Erzsébet’s skirts. 

Roderich kneels down beside the Queen, grabs his coat to try and staunch some of Feliks’ bleeding. “It’ll be alright,” he says to Erzsébet. “Tolys will be back, and Stefan can—”

Whatever he might have said is lost in the next moment. Erzsébet only has a chance to look up, her eyes wide with horror, as their attacker moves towards them. Roderich, his back turned, doesn’t even see as the man—still impaled by three swords, still somehow moving—raises his staff and brings it down sharply between the Jack’s neck and shoulder. 

“Roderich!” Erzsébet’s voice cuts like a knife through the air, but the Jack still crumples, falling forward on top of Feliks. His glasses slip off his face and fall to the ground, next to the Queen. Erzsébet looks up at the attacker with a mixture of fury and terror, holding out one hand to recall her sword to her. It slips out of the man’s chest easily, and Erzsébet gapes at how clean the blade is—there is no blood on it, at all. “What… are you?”

As before, the attacker does not answer. Still run through by two swords, he leans over and grabs the dazed Jack by the collar of his shirt, lifting him as though he weighs nothing. Erzsébet lets out a strangled cry as she throws her sword, directing it through the attacker’s shoulder. But it passes through him as though he isn’t even there. 

“Roderich!” Erzsébet cries again, trying to rise to her feet and shift Feliks without hurting him further. 

The Jack stirs, briefly. Without his glasses, he looks terribly young as he blinks open his eyes. He turns slightly, catching sight of his attacker. He makes a choked noise as he tries to speak. “Erzsi…”

The Queen startles. Roderich always leans on propriety, barely addresses her by her first name, let alone a nickname. 

“Warn Diamonds—Basch,” Roderich says, wincing in pain as the attacker lifts him into the air and throws him over one shoulder. The room is filled for a moment with a blinding light—too bright to see past. Erzsébet lifts a hand to shield her eyes until the light fades. When it does, the attacker and Roderich are gone. The only evidence that they were there at all are the two swords that clatter to the ground, just where the attacker had been standing. 

“My Queen!” When the doors burst open minutes later, Tolys and Stefan rush into the room. They find the Queen on her knees, pressing against the unconscious Eight’s wounds. Clutched in her other hands are the Jack’s glasses. Stefan pulls her away from Feliks. 

“He’s gone,” Erzsébet says, voice hollow. “I couldn’t do anything.” 

Many, many long miles away, the Queen of Spades sits up in bed, heart racing. 

\--

It’s midday, the light streaming into Arthur’s bedroom from behind his thick curtains. Mind still half in the dream, he tosses back his covers and grabs a pair of trousers from his wardrobe, dressing haphazardly. He doesn’t bother to brush his hair or tuck in his shirt as he sprints from the room, one boot on and the other gripped in his hands. The halls are suspiciously empty, but as he descends the old stone staircase he crashes headlong into Li Na.

“Arthur!” She steps back and brushes herself off, giving him a crooked look as she takes in his appearance. “Are you alright? You missed breakfast.”

“Where is the King?” Arthur demands, only using the moment’s pause to shove his bare foot into his other boot. 

“Out in the courtyard—Alfred’s training with the guard,” Li Na says, but as Arthur moves past her she grabs his hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“No.” He doesn’t bother to elaborate, just speeds off down the staircase with his shirttails flying behind him. Already, he can feel the details of the dream fading from his mind—and isn’t that the damn problem with prophetic visions! They’re never straightforward, never last long enough to reveal the entirety of a situation. Arthur gnashes his teeth together as he heads out of the heavy oaken doors and into the courtyard, where the Ace’s Circle is training.

Matthew and Jackson spot him first from where they’re practicing hand-to-hand. Usually Arthur would pause to comment on the match-up—Jackson is burly and obviously strong, while Matthew is thin and quick on his feet—but now he just waves them off as he heads for Alfred. The King is stripped down to just his trousers and a cotton shirt, a two-handed sword gripped tightly in front of him. His opponent is Yong Soo, the Five of Spades. The Five holds two thinner swords, one in each hand, both in the style of the southern province with no cross-guards, and ringed pommels. 

For a moment, Arthur forgets why he’d raced out here. Alfred and Yong Soo have entirely different styles of swordsmanship, and yet they circle each other with a practiced elegance. Yong Soo favors evasive maneuvers and precision strikes, while Alfred can use his larger sword to block and attack in the same fluid motion. But most miraculous, however, is the thrum of power that Arthur feels from Alfred. The King stands with his feet planted, sword lifted over his head, and then he swings it sharply downwards and sends Yong Soo jumping backwards to avoid the attack. The sword hits the ground with a resounding echo, sending cracks through the dirt for several yards. 

No man should be that strong, on his own.

Arthur makes a sound akin to a kettle boiling. “ _Now_ you get it?” 

Everyone in the courtyard turns towards him, now. Alfred leans against his sword, and the spell is broken—what magic the King had been accessing quickly fades away, and suddenly fatigue and effort are evident on his face. 

“Arthur!” he calls out. “Man, you must’ve been really out of it this morning, you never made it to breakfast! And get what?” 

“Your magic,” Arthur explains, voice slightly awed. He gestures at the fissures in the ground. “What, you thought someone who was a clerk seven months ago could do that?”

This must be the way the King’s magic will manifest, Arthur realizes. The strength of the kingdom will become physical strength for the King, keeping him safe if need be. Somehow, it seems fitting for Alfred. Arthur almost smiles, until he realizes why he’s here in the first place.

“We can talk about that later,” Arthur says, rushing forward and grabbing Alfred’s hand. “Come on, I need to speak with you and Yao privately.” 

It takes another ten minutes to track down the Jack, but soon the three of them gather in the King’s office as Arthur explains his dream to them. Yao sits with his hands folded in his lap, listening intently, while Alfred interrupts every few minutes to ask questions. By the end, both the Jack and King are gaping at Arthur. 

“And you didn’t see who it was?” Yao asks. “No sense of who could have attacked Clubs?”

“Not a thing,” Arthur says, rubbing one hand over his forehead. “Erzsébet might’ve recognized him, but then… it seemed like he wasn’t even human.”

“But why didn’t he take both of them? If the Queen was there, too, why’d he only kidnap the Jack?” Alfred’s eyes narrow keenly as he speaks, a tactician’s glint hidden behind his glasses.

“I don’t know,” Arthur snaps, but then he pauses to think about it. “Erzsébet is the most skilled practitioner of offensive magic alive. It’s her specialty. Perhaps, even if she couldn’t defeat him, he wouldn’t have been able to subdue her.”

“But now Clubs is without their Jack, and vulnerable,” Yao says.

“We should send help! Diplomatic aid, or something!” Alfred seems keen on the idea, voice rising in volume with every word.

“Would you _think_?” Arthur shakes his head. “How would we explain what we know to them? They could think we were spying, on purpose! And it takes almost two weeks to get to Acornkeep from here—by then it might not even matter.”

“So we just hang them out to dry?” Alfred demands heatedly. 

“No,” Yao says, tone even but firm. “We strengthen our own defenses, and then send a message to Clubs. If they ask for our help, we can give it. We don’t know what kind of vision Arthur had—present, or future. Perhaps it hasn’t happened yet. If our messenger can get their quickly, maybe this can be prevented.” 

The other two nod, agreeing to the Jack’s wisdom. Then, there’s a short knock on the door.

“Enter,” Yao calls out. The door swings open to reveal Leon, the Nine of Spades. 

“Sorry to bother you, boss,” he says lightly, not sounding particularly sorry. “But a messenger has just arrived from Clubs, and I thought you might want to greet him.” 

The three royals exchange glances. Yao rises to his feet. “Of course. Take him to the main sitting room—we’ll meet you there.”

Arthur barely even minds his disheveled appearance as the three of them file through the hallways and over to the sitting room. They’re announced one by one by Leon, who then turns to their visitor. “Tolys Laurinaitis, the Five of Clubs.”

And sure enough, there he is—shoulder-length brown hair and bright green eyes, pale skin and cautious expression, just as he’d appeared in Arthur’s dream. He isn’t wearing a sword, and rises out of deference to the three royals, inclining his head as they take their own seats in the room.

“We weren’t expecting anyone from Clubs,” Yao says, tentatively. 

“It’s a bit of an emergency, sir,” Tolys says. He has all the dignity of anyone from one of the four courts, but his voice shakes. “Actually—it’s a very big emergency.”

“Your Jack was kidnapped, wasn’t he?” Alfred says, apparently unable to control himself.

“Alfred!” Arthur snaps, at the same moment that Tolys gasps and says, “How did you know?”

“Magic?” Alfred suggests blithely. Arthur kicks him under the coffee table. 

“Tolys,” Arthur says, “tell us what’s happened.”

The Five of Clubs looks suspiciously from the King to the Queen, but then nods. “I came as fast as I could. The Queen went to Diamonds. Two weeks ago, we were attacked, and… it’s as you said. Roderich is gone. We needed to warn you as soon as possible, in case who attacked us comes after you, next.” 

“Past vision?” Alfred mouths at Arthur, who barely resists the urge to kick the King again.

“What about Feliks?” Arthur can’t help asking. But at the same time, he’s doing the calculations in his head. Two weeks ago, to the day, was the fifth anniversary of King Ludwig’s coronation. But that can’t be why… 

Tolys gives him another too-keen look, but then shakes his head. “He was injured in the attack. We don’t… we don’t know if he’ll make it, yet. I wouldn’t even have left him, if I didn’t have to.”

Yao purses his lips. “Who did you send to Hearts? Queen Kiku is a master of healing, perhaps he can—”

“You don’t understand,” Tolys says miserably. He bites down on his lower lip, hands clenched in his lap. “Hearts is who attacked us.”

This revelation is met with stunned silence.

After a stale moment, Alfred laughs nervously. “No way. That’s not possible… is it?”

Yao and Arthur glance at each other, communicating volumes within an instant. Yao sighs. “It’s not _im_ possible.”

“Oh, stars,” Arthur curses. “If they took Roderich— _Francis_.” 

“Wait, what? Will someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Alfred demands. 

Arthur barely hears the words of his King. He’s already on his feet, even though he’s not sure what he can possibly do. All he knows is that if he doesn’t do _something_ , the King of Diamonds will be in terrible danger.


End file.
